Royal Flush
by Titaniafae
Summary: Rogue grows up a little, and learns that there's more to poker than the cards.
1. Ten of Hearts

**Ten of Hearts**

_Dear Diary, _

I dreamt of the Statue again last night, which I suppose isn't all that surprising. Yes, it was two years ago now, but something like that remains impressed in your subconscious. The light, the pain, Magneto... Logan. 

That's something that really stays with you. Subconscious or conscious. Logan huddled over me, holding me. I can almost imagine his lips on mine, if I think about it hard enough. If a miracle occurred. He'd be hard and soft, I know it. Demanding and tender. And it would be heavenly- 

The door crashed open and Rogue jumped, slamming shut the small, black, leather-bound book. The pen skittered across the desk and fell to the floor. "Jesus, Jubes. Don't you know how to knock?" She bent to pick up the pen, letting her hair fall forward to hide the blush rising on her cheeks. One hand on the book at all times. Don't let *that* fall into the wrong hands. "What's up?" 

As she sat up, her other glove - the one she'd taken off to write - landed in her lap. "Come on," Jubilee said, high-spirited as ever, sitting with a bounce on the end of the bed. "Get your gear on and get your ass downstairs. You don't want to miss this." 

"Logan's back?" Rogue guessed, as she pulled the glove on. A high note of hope crept into her voice but she didn't notice. 

Jubilee gave her a look so pointed that Rogue blushed again, looking down to make sure the fingers of the glove weren't twisted. The other girl rolled her eyes. "Yes. Logan's back. With the rest of them. The team, remember them? And they've brought that new guy with them." She reached over, grabbed Rogue by her now-safe wrist. "Come on. They're all in the Professor's office now, but if we camp out in the library we'll see 'em when they come out." 

Rogue paused long enough to shove the diary into a drawer, before letting Jubilee drag her gleefully downstairs. Just in time too, because no sooner was Rogue settled on the couch between Jubilee and Kitty, a hardcover copy of 'Remains of the Day' in her hands, than the Professor's door opened. 

Rogue peered over the top of her book in unison with her two friends. Cyclops, Doctor Jean Grey - damn, that dream really had left her feeling Magneto today, hadn't it? - and Storm. And someone else, someone new. Taller than Ororo, thin, his hair falling rakishly into his eyes. Truly devillish eyes, a burning red as he turned them towards the three girls as Jean gestured in their direction. 

Three books snapped upwards. 

Rogue heard feet coming closer on the wooden floors - two sets, and exchanged a sideways glance with Kitty. With a sigh, they lowered the books again. 

Jean smiled and held out a hand towards them. "Remy, allow me to introduce Jubilee, Rogue and Kitty, three of our more senior students here. Girls, this is Remy LeBeau, also known as Gambit." 

He bowed - actually bowed - a little to each of them, with a small smile. "Remy is delighted to meet you, /chères filles/." 

Rogue felt Jubilee stifle a giggle beside her, and she smiled herself, at his use of the third person for himself and at the grand compliment. But then her attention was entirely caught by the Professor's door opening again. Only one person came out this time, a figure she'd know instantly from two hundred yards on a dark night. 

"Remy will be joining us here at the school," Jean was saying, but Rogue wasn't paying any attention. If Logan had been talking to the Professor, and now he looked like that, then that meant only one thing. 

He glanced briefly into the library, and then stalked off down the corridor. Barely thinking, Rogue jumped to her feet, dropping her book onto the seat she'd just vacated. Jean blinked as Rogue pushed past her. 

"Sorry, Jean. Nice to meet you, Remy," she tossed over her shoulder, and then she was out the door and jogging down the corridor. Damn, Logan sure could cover the ground when he wanted to. 

She caught up with him at the top of the stairs. "Hey," she called, and he stopped, turned, let her come up the last few steps. "Are you leavin' again?" She'd long since stopped calling it 'running'. It just... wasn't, anymore. 

"Yeah," he answered shortly. He looked tired, face and eyes and stance. "It's time to get out and feel the world again, ya know?" 

Stay. Take me with you. So many responses. In the end, she said: "When?" 

He shrugged. "Tomorrow morning's good as any time." 

"'Spose so," she answered, shrugging a little herself, and sticking her hands in the back pockets of her jeans to stop her doing something inappropriate. Like reaching for him. Silence for a moment. "Hey, you'd better go get cleaned up before dinner." 

"Yeah." He walked away, but she didn't move until she heard the door to his room close. 

Not much conversation, but then there never was. Garrulous he wasn't. Now... Go to her room and finish writing in her diary? Or back downstairs to try to apologise properly to Jean for running out like that? The decision was quickly taken out of her hands as Kitty and Jubilee came running up the stairs. 

They paused a step below her, and Kitty let out an explosive breath. "Wow." 

"I'll say," Jubilee agreed eagerly, grinning. "Rogue, why did you run off? He's so hot." 

"Hotter than hot." Kitty took one of her arms, and Jubilee the other, and they propelled her down the corridor, towards the room the two other girls shared. Once there, Jubilee threw herself dramatically on the bed as Kitty closed the door. 

"That smile," Kitty gushed, leaning back against the door. 

"That accent," Jubilee sighed. 

"Those eyes..." 

"That *body*." 

"Oh God, yeah." 

Rogue sighed and sat at the desk. "Sorry I missed it," she said lightly. 

Jubilee rolled onto her stomach and raised herself up on her elbows to look pointedly at Rogue. "No you're not, missy. You ran off to talk to Wolvie, didn't you." 

A faint hint of a blush - good grief, she might as well just paint her cheeks that colour and be done with it. "No," she said ineffectually. 

Kitty laughed. "Yeah sure. And Sabretooth's an intellectual." 

"Forget him," Jubilee said blithely. "This Gambit is the goods, hon. He is romantic like Wolvie doesn't even know exists. I mean, the guy practically kissed our hands when he met us." 

Rogue sighed again, closing her eyes briefly. "Jubes..." But how could she give voice to what she knew to be true; that Logan was sweet, and tender, and as romantic as any man alive, and she knew he would be if she could just get him to see her. 

"And he asked all about you after you ran off," Kitty added. She winked at Jubilee, and added. "In fact, that was a cunning idea. Appear all mysterious and aloof. Guys love a challenge." 

Rogue shook her head, and stood up. "Let's just go to dinner, OK guys?" 

Jubilee bounced off the bed with a big grin. "Hey yeah. And after, can we play poker again? I think I'm getting the hang of it." 

That drew a laugh out of Rogue as nothing else had. Ever since they'd found out that Rogue had learned to play poker from Logan, Kitty and Jubilee had pestered her to teach them. Jubilee had even found a transparent plastic visor from somewhere that made her look like a reject from an 80s sitcom. It had started as just the three of them, sitting down every few nights and having a small game, no stakes, but it had grown. 

They cleared a table in the rec room after dinner, pulling chairs around it. Rogue looked around the table as Kitty passed out the chips. The three girls, of course, and Bobby and St John, they were regulars now. They'd brought the new guy - Remy - along with them, who- 

Rogue looked down. Who was looking right at her. Looking into her lap, she was going by hearing alone. Remy saying, "Merci" as Kitty handed him his chips. Then a new voice, cutting through the other chatter and laughter to say: "Can anyone join the game?" 

Her gaze jerked up as Jubilee drawled: "Sure thing, Wolvie. Five bucks to buy in." 

He pulled up a chair across the table, between Bobby and Jubilee, who continued to explain the rules as Kitty slid some chips over to Logan, taking his money. "It's five card draw. Ten cent ante and minimum bet, no maximum. Play and deal passes left." She shuffled the deck of cards in her hand once more - the fancy way she'd been practicing for weeks in her room - and grinned around the table. "So, who's in?" 

Everyone tossed a chip into the centre, and Jubilee dealt, five cards face down to each person. Rogue took a deep breath and picked up her cards, forcing herself to concentrate on them. The first round betting was cautious, as always, and then the card round, as everyone discarded the cards they didn't want, and got new ones. Rogue looked at her hand - two aces and some rubbish. She kept the aces, and got three new cards. More rubbish. Damn, but if she'd only kept that other seven, now she'd have two pair... 

She'd almost forgotten Logan's presence again when he spoke up, opening the bidding. It was fast, but still cautious. Ever since Bobby had gone bust inside two hands one time, the opening few hands had always been a little slower. Kitty and St John bowed out in the first round, Remy in the second, and when Logan raised the bet thirty cents in the third round, Rogue folded. Jubilee, after agonising, called him, and Logan presented a pair of Queens, beating Jubilee's paltry pair of eights. 

"You bastard!" Rogue blurted, unable to hold it back. "I could have beaten that!" 

Logan laughed, leaning back in his chair and pulling out a cigar. "You're too timid, kid." 

He lit it, and Jubilee laughed. "Now this is a real poker game. Your deal, Wolvie." 

Too timid, huh? Rogue sniffed, then smiled a little at the thrill of a challenge. That was definitely a Wolverine reaction, and she welcomed it. 

It was a small game mostly, pairs and high cards and one three of a kind that made the pot run to four dollars before being taken out by Remy. Bobby, betting hard on a pair of kings and an ace, looked very upset by that, and Rogue found herself laughing along with everyone else, grinning at Remy, who smiled back. 

Hmm... Kitty had been right, he did have a wonderful smile. 

And then, after an hour and more of playing, Rogue picked up the most beautiful hand she had ever seen. Queen, Jack, ten, nine. And a three. The run wasn't in the same suit, but it was a potential straight anyway, and they hadn't so much as glimpsed a five-card hand all night. She kept it low in the first round of bidding, not wanting to risk everything on a card that might not come. 

But it did come, the eight of clubs, and she was looking at a straight. Breathe, Rogue. Right, don't raise the bet too much. Don't want to scare everyone into folding before they put their money on the table. Bobby, still hurting from the fleecing Remy had given him, folded in the first round. Another round of conservative raises, and Kitty folded too, shortly followed by Remy. Logan upped it thirty cents in the third round, and Jubilee bowed out. Rogue took a deep breath, and tossed some chips into the centre. Three to see Logan's bet. Five to raise it. She'd hooked him, now how far could she string him? 

St John folded, but that was expected. It was Logan that Rogue was staring at, her eyes bright. He made some show of considering his hand, and she held her breath. 

And then he threw his cards down. 

Rogue blinked, not believing it. "You folded?" He nodded, and almost smirked. "You... Aaah!" Unable to articulate it, she threw her cards down with force; they slid across the table until stopped by the pile of chips in the centre of the table. 

"I think that's a good place to finish," Kitty said, laughing. "Rogue, take your money and let's cash out." 

Rogue had come out fifty cents up. Not bad, all in all, but still... She stalked out of the room, finding Logan waiting outside. 

"Why'd you go and fold on that last hand?" she snapped. 

He laughed, and she grit her teeth. But inside, she was laughing too. Not amusement, delight, at sharing this with him. It seemed so special, and she knew she'd replay the memories a hundred times during his absence. 

"You have to learn to keep a poker face, kid," he said, falling into step beside her as they headed upstairs. "You so obviously had the best hand of the night clutched in your fist. I wasn't going down that much just to make you happy. What did you have anyway?" 

"A Queen-high straight," she grumbled. They'd made it to her room, and she stopped. "What about you?" 

"Two pair," he answered, turning to face her a few paces away. "Jacks over fours. A good hand, otherwise, but there's more to poker than the cards, kid. That's the lesson here." 

Always the patient instructor, after teaching her to fight, and drive, and a dozen other things. He never stopped. "Yeah, yeah." Rogue shifted a little. "Well, take care wherever you end up this time, OK sugar?" It was part of his leaving tradition. She said it every time he disappeared on one of his jaunts. 

He nodded. "Look out for the new kid, hey? He looks like he could be trouble." More tradition then, as he said: "Keep the tags safe, yeah?" 

"I will." She stepped forward and hugged him then. Not part of the tradition, not something she'd ever done before, and she felt him hesitate a moment before his arms came up around her. Just briefly, then he released her, stepped back, and she did the same. "G'night Logan," she said quickly, opening her door. 

"G'night kid," he returned, and she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. 

Flicking on her bedside lamp filled the room with a low, warm light. Rogue went over to the dressing table and pulled forward a small box. Carved wood, dark and rich and delicately grained through the thick varnish. She pulled her glove off and ran bare fingers across the smooth surface before opening it. 

A jewelry box, for a young woman, not a girl, without a dancing ballerina but with compartments. Rings and necklaces and bracelets filled the open compartments. The closed compartment held only one thing. 

The dog tags. Of course. 

As she held them, Rogue remembered, as she always did, what he'd said when he'd given them to her. Really given them to her, after he came back that first time, from Alkali Lake. She'd asked him if he wanted them back, and she hadn't had to hide anything in her voice because it really didn't matter if he wanted them back, since she had him back now and he was better than any little bits of metal. 

"No," he'd said after a long moment's silence. "If I take them back, they become a symbol of something dark and horrible and vicious. If you keep them, they're a symbol of something good. Something light and worth remembering. I need to know that's there." 

It was one small instant. Just a glimpse of a deeper, more heartfelt Logan than was readily apparent. 

That was the man she loved. That was the man she knew would come for her. One day. 

She put the tags back and closed the box. Her evening routine could be completed on autopilot now, as she found her mind caught up with all sorts of thoughts. Remy's smile. Logan's arms around her for that instant. The fact that it had been a year and a half now. 

She turned off the light and got into bed, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. 

He would come for her. Wouldn't he? 


	2. Jack of Hearts

**Jack of Hearts**

_Dear Diary, _

Three weeks now, and counting. I know he's coming back. In his own damn time. As always. But I still count, just because. 

That new guy, Remy, has fit in really well. Probably because he's really quite easy to talk to. Very chatty, and funny, and completely charming. Somehow, after this short time, he seems an integral part of the group, and it's perfectly natural for him to hug me. He hugs all the girls. He's that sort of guy. 

Voices across the room, now one raised. "Rogue, come on already. Or there won't be time and I'm not letting you out of this on a technicality." 

"Yeah, OK, Kitty, just give me a minute." 

_We're going out tonight, and I foolishly let them talk me into it. Actually, I'm almost looking forward to it. It seems like ages since I had a good night out. With friends. But, I don't know; maybe this is a mistake..._

Ten minutes later, Rogue looked in the mirror, and took a deep breath. "This is a mistake," she stated. 

"Oh, no you don't," Jubilee interrupted, stepping up beside her. Blue eyes met green in the mirror and Jubilee slid an arm around Rogue to hug her close. "Come on, Roguey. You look gorgeous. You can't tell me you don't feel fantastic." 

Rogue opened her mouth helplessly. Well... yeah. She did feel kinda good. The silver dress covered everything, but it was only opaque over the really important bits. The sleeves, most of the long skirt and a swathe around her middle were sheer. But the most beautiful touch was the decoration in her hair, a spray of silver. Or maybe, more rightly, the veil that was attached to it. The thinnest weave her skin would allow (and the testing had been rigorous), it made her look unbelievably exotic and ladylike. And safe. It tickled her chin as it moved with her breath. 

"Thank you," she said, finally, simply. Turning around, she smiled to Kitty as well. "Thank you both." 

"Hey, babe, anything for you," Jubilee said, grinning. "Now come on. The boys will be waiting, and you know how they get." 

How they got was speechless as the three girls came down the stairs. Rogue in her silver and Jubilee in riot-inducingly short yellow and Kitty in clinging blue. Rogue blushed at the appreciative looks, but Jubilee just stalked through, an extra sway in her hips. She elbowed St John on the way, though. "You're dribbling, boy," she noted, and laughed. 

Heading out the front door, Rogue found it being held for her by Remy. He was smiling, at her, that smile he had that was impossible not to return. "You are beautiful, chere," he said quietly, and amazingly she found herself not blushing, but looking up at him and smiling more. 

They took Kitty's car, the girls in the front and the guys in the back. Barely had they pulled out of the drive than there was a sudden flurry of hissed conversation from the back seat, and then something was passed forward, between Rogue and Jubilee. Rogue raised a hand to take it; a bottle, almost entirely full by the weight. And definitely something alcoholic by the smell, as she unscrewed the lid. 

"Bobby Drake, what the hell are you trying to pass off on us now?" Jubilee demanded, taking the bottle from Rogue and lifting it to her lips for a hefty swig. Laughter from the back seat as she coughed. "Jesus, Bobby. What did you do; wave the bottle of Coke in the general direction of the Bacardi?" And she passed the bottle back to Rogue. 

Who hesitated. Alcohol? Well, with the veil, and the dress, and the gloves and boots, she was practically untouchable. And it was possible to drink without getting completely drunk. Just a little. Just enough to get tipsy. She took a careful mouthful, and the bottle went back to the back seat. 

Another couple of mouthfuls down, she arrived at the club feeling pleasantly languorous. Laid-back enough to mimic Jubilee's walk - just a little - as they went in. She began to understand why Jubes did it. It was a power walk, an arrogant, confident strut. Lead with the hips and let your body flow. It was a challenge, like upping the ante, making a big raise. Daring someone to match your bid if they wanted to see your cards. 

Sometimes there's more to poker than the cards. Rogue was starting to see what he meant. 

The place was packed, but not too much. There was still space on the dance floor - probably because it was getting late - and that's where Jubilee was heading like a homing pigeon, dragging Kitty with one hand and Rogue with the other. Rogue wanted to resist, because coming out was one thing, but dancing...? The music was loud, rhythmic, grinding and she'd never had a beat get inside her like this, so she didn't protest, just let herself be dragged into an open space on the edge of the floor. Once she was there, it seemed right to dance, and there was that beat in her stomach that told her just how to move. 

Easy when you knew how. Just like walking. Just like breathing. An undulation of muscles. Natural. 

The boys joined them, and they made a group. Bobby was a surprisingly good dancer, stepping up behind Kitty and grabbing her by the waist to spin her out. Obviously something they'd done before, as Kitty shimmied around him expertly. She pressed herself up against him, closer than Rogue thought was legal in a public place like a dancefloor. Verging on the scandalous as she curled one knee around his leg and leant away from him, arching her back... 

"Get a room, you two," Jubilee jibed. There was general laughter as Kitty quickly stood up, stepping away from Bobby to turn and poke her tongue out at Jubilee. But Bobby was laughing too, and Kitty was smiling, and Rogue grinned along. 

Dropping Kitty's hand, Bobby slid across the circle to slip in behind Rogue, so close she took half a step away on principle - people shouldn't be that close. But he stopped her, hands around her waist and pulling her back. "Come on, Rogue," he said quietly, grinning. "It's your turn." 

"But I don't... I can't do that," Rogue protested, waving a hand across at Kitty, who was smiling encouragingly. 

"Sure you can," Bobby assured her, pulling her even closer, until she was touching him, her back pressed against him. "It's easy. Just move with the beat." 

There was a jarring minute, as Rogue completely failed to move in time with him, and their bodies were hopelessly out of sync. But then she found the rhythm again, and moved with it, and with him, their bodies a single flowing entity. He spun her out, and she was laughing, sparkling, more beautiful than ever. 

You couldn't get her off the dancefloor. Time ticked on, and Remy and St John withdrew to the bar to tell tall stories to each other. Later, Kitty pleaded fatigue and thirst, and Bobby left with her. They joined the other two at the bar. Rogue was pleading with Jubilee to stay just a little longer when Remy stepped up beside them. 

"St John wants you to tell the story about the canoe," the Cajun said with that half-smile. "He's quite insistent, chere." 

With a laugh, Jubilee skipped off the floor, and Rogue smiled at Remy. She felt better than she could remember feeling in a long time. This was fun. Fun. How long since she'd had any of that? She'd thought maybe it had vanished along with her ability for skin-to-skin contact. How could she possibly have thought this was a mistake? "So, now that you've got rid of her," she quipped, sidling up to him, swaying to the music, "are you going to have your wicked way with me?" 

Remy's answering smile somehow made her knees go weak, so it was just as well he slipped both arms around her waist and pulled her closer. So close. "Maybe, chere. Maybe." So close and his voice was so low and intimate. Dancing had been natural all night, and now it was natural to sway with him, to step even closer. Not like with Bobby. Definitely... different. They fit together perfectly, one of her legs between his, and he was so warm as she pressed against him. Her eyes flickered closed, and her head tilted back a little. She felt his hand against her face, through the veil, fingers trailing down her cheek. "Chere?" Still low, but hesitant, inquiring... hopeful. 

She opened her eyes, looked up into his through that veil that was thin enough to touch through. To kiss through. "Do it," she ordered gently. 

So he did. He cradled her against him as his lips grazed across hers, so lightly. Then a harder touch, but still a tease. Third time lucky, as he lingered, heated the veil with his breath and hers. She tilted her head slightly and their lips fit together as naturally as their bodies. And they opened naturally as well, his tongue tracing the line of her lip and the veil now dry, now damp with saliva. She touched her tongue tentatively to his, bit down softly on his bottom lip. 

It was enough and not nearly enough when he pulled back. 

"It's probably time we went home," she said, and he got the message. 

Because he got the message, afterwards - after a ride home in a carful of happy mutant teens singing 'Istanbul, Not Constantinople' loudly and a hushed, giggling entry into the Mansion - afterwards, there was a knock on her door so quiet it might not have happened, but it did, so she opened the door. 

She'd spent five minutes, alone in her room, reconsidering this. She knew her love, he would come for her. Probably. But maybe... And she wanted to know how it felt. How it was supposed to be. Not feverish, innocent imaginings and no real memories to grasp onto anymore, just faded feelings. She'd been playing for the past year with paltry pairs, maybe the occasional three of a kind. She wanted to know what it felt like to play a full house. A royal flush. 

So she drew Remy into the room and he kissed her again, no teasing this time. Kissed her properly, the veil wet against her face when his mouth moved and she hadn't noticed she'd been that close to the bed until she fell back onto it, his weight pressing down on her. 

"No," she said against his lips, and pushed at him. 

Almost as if he was expecting it, he leaned back immediately. He slid off her and sat on the bed beside her as she took deep breaths, trying to remember anything but how much she wanted this. With a different man. Oh God, how could she say it? "Remy, I'm sorry... I just-" 

"Chere." At the sound of his voice, she looked at him, his eyes understanding, his lips quirked in that half-smile. "It is all right. You are thinking of someone else. You want Remy to be someone else. But Remy is sorry, he cannot growl, and Canada is simply too cold for him." 

She couldn't help but laugh. Now, more than ever, she had to explain. "I just wanted to know. What it's like, and everything. What... well, the memories fade, you know, until there's just this hint of a personality that comes out sometimes. But when I did have the memories - his memories - it was... well, it was always sex. It was never making love." 

He leaned back beside her, propped up on one elbow to face her. "You don't want sex. You want him to make love to you." 

Rogue nodded, then bit her lip. "But Remy, what if he never does? What if I wait all my life and he never comes to me?" 

"Then he's a fool," Remy replied easily, smiling. "Or maybe he is waiting for you. Wanting you to come to him." 

She shook her head. "No, I couldn't do that. I... I wouldn't know what to do, or... Besides, he wouldn't want me. I'm too... innocent and timid and I'm not like all those women." Too much, said too much; she turned her face away from him. 

"Oh, chere." Expelled on a sigh. "Remy wants to help you. He wants to... show you. That you are a woman, that you are naturally gifted with everything you need to make a man fall under your spell. To show you what you wonder about." She turned back to him, eyes wide, to find him looking down at her, his face serious. "But Remy is worried that he might be accused of opportunism." 

She had to laugh again, then. "After I've practically begged you straight out?" Her smile lingering, she raised one gloved hand to trace the high line of his cheekbone, down to his nose, then over his lips, along his chin, finally to slide around his neck, drawing him down towards her. But then the pause of a last-minute hesitation, her smile vanishing. "It isn't just opportunism, is it?" 

Remy laughed then, just quietly, and warmly, his breath against the veil. "You're a beautiful woman," he said. "And Remy does not deny that he has his selfish reasons for wanting this. But he's also your friend." 

Rogue raised her other hand to cup his face, looking into his eyes. "Show me," she ordered, gently. 

So he did. 


	3. Queen of Hearts

**Queen of Hearts**

_Dear Diary, _

Everywhere - literature, magazines, TV - it's stated that if you have sex while drunk, you regret it the next morning. Well, call me wicked and sinful, but I didn't. And I still don't, four days later. 

Then again, neither of us were really that drunk. And we didn't do it with any illusions. It wasn't a one-night stand. We were friends - we still are - and it was warm and gentle, not just animal sex. 

Trust me, I know all about animal sex. Whose memories have I had access to? 

There were no illusions. No expectations. No regrets. And somehow, amazingly, no complications. I thought there would be, no matter what we said beforehand. But it hasn't got in the way. He still hugs me in exactly the same way, and there's no jealousy. Either way. He's been flirting a bit more seriously with Jubes now, and I think it's sweet. 

It really comes down to the crunch now, though. Because Logan's back. I wasn't planning anything - I don't have some big master scheme - but as soon as he walked in... 

Pause. Pen down, lean back in the chair, breathe out. Remember. 

They'd been sprawled across the rec room, playing Monopoly in a loud, raucous and generally teenage manner. Kitty had been caught stealing from the bank - almost the least of the cheating that had occurred already - and had taken the hotels off Bobby's property when he threatened to bar her from the game. The argument was broad-ranging and hilarious, and Jubilee had just hurled the little dog playing piece at St John when the door opened and Logan walked in. 

Rogue didn't sit up. She didn't jump to attention or rush over to greet him. She was lounging in an armchair, legs dangling over one of the arms. The noise subsided a bit at his entrance - apart from Jubilee's giggling fit - and she smiled at him. "Hey, sugar. You're back." 

He looked a little perplexed, because this wasn't right. Rogue always ran to greet him, and spent half an hour telling him what had happened while he was away but not asking questions because he didn't like to answer them anyway. "Hey. Yeah. Uh, I'll see you at dinner." And he turned and left, closing the door behind him. 

Rogue had relaxed then, her breathing slowly returning to normal. Because though she hadn't jumped, her pulse had. And she'd wanted to go to him and do the whole routine, but she hadn't. She wouldn't. Things were going to be different this time. 

_As soon as he walked in, I decided what I was going to do._

She was going to seduce him. Just a little bit. She wasn't going to wait any more for him to come for her. So what if this wasn't the way it was supposed to be. He wasn't doing his part, he wasn't playing the romantic lead, so she'd have to give him a nudge. And he wouldn't fold on this hand; she wouldn't let him. 

They said she got her determination, her stubbornness, at least in part from Logan. Well, it was about to come back to haunt him. That was enough to make her snigger. 

Laughing to herself. That hadn't happened in a while. 

She put the diary away and started to get changed, planning as she dressed. Plotting a seduction seemed so... cold-blooded. Calculating. And fun as hell. Casual but flattering clothes, pants and shirt. A thin scarf, for a little protection. A light dust of make-up, and a hint of perfume. Oh yeah, and that practically sheer bodysuit she'd invested in after the adventure with Remy had suggested that one might be a good idea. 

First night after he got home. He'd be in the library, enjoying some quiet and a little of the Professor's best whiskey. Sometimes it amazed her how much a creature of habit Logan really was. 

She paused with her hand on the doorknob, taking a deep breath. Time to up the ante. 

The door barely made a sound as it opened, but it was enough to catch Logan's attention. He sat up a little straighter in the armchair he was sprawled in, looked over to the door. Smiled a touch at seeing her. "Hey, kid." 

"Hey, Logan." Rogue closed the door behind her. Judging by the level in the whiskey bottle, this was his fifth, at least. A slightly tipsy Logan was a wildcard she hadn't expected to be dealt, and it could take her hand either way. She crossed the room, sat down in the armchair opposite him, letting a small smile onto her own face. Not a grin, not a wide, cheery smile. An enigmatic smile. "How was your holiday this time?" 

He shrugged, took another sip of the alcohol in his glass. "Fine," he grunted. "Why do you ask?" 

First raise, enough to get his attention, not enough to scare him off. "I just wanted to hear your voice." His eyes back on hers, a raised eyebrow. She returned his gaze steadily, and prayed that her heartbeat would keep quiet enough that he couldn't hear it. "I miss it when you go away." 

"Really." A statement, and he closed his eyes as he took a larger sip of the whiskey. Not opening his eyes, he tilted his head back against the chair. 

Silence. 

"You're not going to humour me and talk?" A tinge of hope, a touch of the coquette and - damn - a waver of disappointment. You didn't expect it to be that easy, Rogue, surely? 

Lips curled in a tiny smirk, and dark eyes opened to look straight at her. "I want to hear your voice too, and if I talk, you can't." He'd seen her bid and raised again. They had a game. 

"I'm not going to recite the Gettysburg Address for you." 

"Just as well; I'd probably go to sleep." 

"How insulting. And I thought you wanted to hear my voice." 

A chuckle, from low in his throat. The sort of sound that sent tremours down her spine. "And 'four score and seven years ago' is what you want to hear me saying?" 

Rogue smiled, wider than before. Tipsy Logan was making things easier. "Now that you mention it, I'm sure I can think of some things I'd prefer." She gestured across at him. "Is it any good?" 

He raised an eyebrow, a touch perplexed. "Your voice?" 

"The whiskey." It was damn good whiskey, Rogue knew that. Irish, single malt, triple distilled. 

And Logan knew she knew that, that smirk back on his face. "Smooth as honey over silk." He raised the bottle. "Would you like some?" 

"Sure." Rogue stood, smoothing her hands down over her hips and came across to stand beside his chair. She'd expected him to pour her some, but he simply handed her his glass. She took it, letting her fingers brush lightly over his. A hitch of her breath she cursed, and was sure he'd heard. She closed her eyes and raised the glass to her lips, letting just a touch into her mouth. Holding it on her tongue, she lowered the glass. The feeling of the liquor spread across her tongue, through her teeth, up the back of her throat. She curled her tongue around it and, finally, swallowed. It burned, but it was mellow as well. Like he said, beautifully smooth. The Professor bought well. 

Logan's hand closed around the glass, around her fingers, and she opened her eyes to look down at him. "Nice to see someone lavish that sort of attention on whiskey," he said, sounding a little amused, and a little... something else. 

"I give everything the attention it deserves," she replied, and cleared her throat of the huskiness the whiskey had coated it with. Carefully extricating her fingers from around the glass, Rogue turned away from his chair, walking over to the window. There was a cord that parted the heavy blue drapes - there it was - and then she drew back the secondary curtain, a billowy white gauze just thick enough not to let direct sunlight through during the day. "It's a pleasant night," she noted, though she wasn't really seeing anything outside the window. 

"Is it?" A pause, the clink of glass on a table, and then soft steps crossing the carpet behind her. Logan stepped up to her shoulder, beside and slightly behind her, and looked out past her as she looked at him. He looked good in profile, as in everything else. "It's cold out there, though." 

There wasn't much room here. If she turned slightly, her shoulder would be pressed against his. She turned. "Then I guess it's just as well we're in here. Where it's warm." 

His eyes were so dark, almost black, and they held hers so tightly that even if she wanted to - and she didn't, oh no - she couldn't have looked away. Silence, no speech, just breathing, hers and his, for a moment. Then: "Why did you come looking for me tonight? You don't usually." 

"There's lots of things I don't usually do," Rogue answered, tilting her chin up a little. 

"Like answering the question?" 

She smiled, and turned around entirely to face him. The curtain, which had been held in place by her shoulder, fell between them, blurring his form but somehow not diminishing his eyes. Time for the final raise, and now she was sure she had the winning hand. "I told you," she said, stepped closer, the curtain slithering between them. "I missed you." 

His hands came up, running up her arms, the curtain whispering against the satin of her gloves. Then pushing up the loose sleeves of her shirt, until the only thing separating his bare hands and her bare arms was the gauzy curtain. 

"I missed you too," Logan rumbled, and she looked up into his eyes, breathing fast through slightly parted lips, and wondering how it could possibly be this easy, how she could not have done this before. He moved his hands in a rustle of fabric, and his fingers smoothed the curtain over her face, cupped her chin. "Marie," he breathed, and it was like an endearment, an inside joke, something only the two of them understood. 

Rogue's hands came up almost of their own volition, gripping his shoulders. "I've missed you for a long time," she whispered, and in the next instant his lips came down on hers. 

Her knees gave way when his tongue tangled with hers, but that was all right because he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her tight against him. The other hand cradled her head as their lips moved together. His teeth nipped at her upper lip, and he pressed kisses along her jawline to her ear. His breath was hot and damp in her ear, and her shiver sent goosebumps blossoming across her skin. She shifted against him, the curtain sliding sibilantly around her. It was an annoyance; she was too far from him. She wanted to be closer, to wrap herself around him. A faint moan - hers or his? - and his mouth recaptured hers. 

Heaven was here, wet fabric in her mouth, wrapped in white silk like she was in a giant cocoon. She emerged a beautiful butterfly, floating upstairs beside Logan. Her feet never touched the floor as they walked down the corridor, not touching, not talking; she couldn't, her head was spinning too much. 

"Good night," he said quietly, leaving her outside her door, and she drifted inside to fall into caterpillar dreams. Dreams where there was no curtain and she could get as close as she wanted. An impossibility, but so many dreams had come true tonight already, she could live with one that never would. 

Uncertainty lasted a total of thirty seconds upon waking, and she almost leapt out of bed. It had happened. It had finally happened. And she knew that because if it had just been another dream it certainly wouldn't have ended at her bedroom door, with her too dazed to even ask Logan in. Every time she looked in the mirror, getting dressed, there was a smile verging on a grin on her face, and she laughed out loud. 

The dining hall was full - everyone was there, even Logan, and he wasn't a morning person - when Rogue pushed open the door and walked in. Jubilee and Kitty were at the cereal buffet, and Rogue joined them there, leaning over to grab a bowl and almost dropping it as she was jabbed in the ribs. 

"Ouch. Watch it, Jubes." 

"You did it!" the girl hissed excitedly. "When? How??" 

"And how was it?" Kitty asked with a smile and less urgency. 

Rogue took a scoop of cereal. "Well, yeah, sorta. Um..." She suddenly glanced over to the teacher's table, and even though Logan was facing the other way, she was absolutely certain he could hear every word. "I'll - uh - tell you later." 

They took a table not far from the teachers', and Rogue spent her time trying *not* to look over at Logan. Somehow, in a room full of shouting mutant students, the events of last night seemed ethereal. Looking at him, though... it reinforced everything. That she knew what those lips could do. How his sideburns sounded brushing against white gauze. 

A snap of fingers in front of her face. "Earth to Rogue! Come on, we have science." 

They were clearing their plates when she looked up and saw him leaving the dining room. Just loping out, same as every morning, without so much as a backward glance at her. Certainly not coming over to say hello. Or have a nice day. Or anything. 

She drifted through science. She stared out the window in history. And worried. And fretted. He wasn't at lunch. And by afternoon maths, even Kitty was starting to get annoyed at her. 

Logan was at dinner, but Rogue made a point of sitting at a particularly noisy table with Bobby and St John and all. She hadn't been waiting all day for him to say something to her. She was having a great time. She hadn't even thought of him all day. 

She certainly wasn't going to wait in her room after dinner, half-reading a magazine, in the vain hope that he would come and visit her. 

At ten o'clock, finished the whole damn /Cosmo/ including those ridiculous letters to the doctor, she threw it across the room. "Dammit!" 

Rolling off the bed, she stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind her. Where was he? He'd better have a damn good excuse. Everyone she stopped gave her answers very quickly. Maybe it was the annoyed expression, or maybe the way she marched along the corridor, arms folded across her chest, with the gait of someone perfectly willing and able to walk straight over anyone who got in her way. 

He was in the garage, half under that stupid bike. Shirt off, oil-smeared chest... it took a moment to remind herself that she was angry with him. No reminder was necessary, though, after he glanced up at her, muttered: "Hey, kid," and went back to fiddling. 

Kid? Kid?? That was not an endearment that went with what she thought they'd done last night. Honey, yeah. Darlin', even, he bandied that one around enough. But kid? No way. Deep breath, Rogue. You are not going to go all ballistic, crying female on him. That would just be the ultimate indignity. 

"Hey yourself," she returned, ice-princess composure. There, that's better. "Cyke's going to flip out if he catches you mucking around with his bike, you know." 

Logan grunted. Pure eloquence. One miscellaneous tool down, another one picked up. Silence. 

"Yeah well, this is thrilling, but I'm tired." Two steps to the door, and she had it half-open before he could reply. 

"G'night." 

She snorted, and shut the door behind her with perhaps more force than was strictly required. And then she broke into a run. A sprint. A mad dash through the hallways to her own room. The door yanked open, pulled shut, and she flung herself on the bed. 

The tears were hot, gasping, teeth-grinding, shed into a pillow first clutched hard, and then punched. Pummelled. Thrown across the room as she lay, breathing heavily, on her bed, hair sticking to her damp skin as she stared up at the ceiling. Damn him! Why couldn't he just do what he was supposed to do? 


	4. King of Hearts

**King of Hearts**

_Dear Diary, _

There's more to poker than the cards, is there? Hah! I don't know what sort of fucked up game he thinks he's playing with me, but I'm going to call his bluff. 

I can play too. And I can damn well win. 

Anger was necessary for leather, Rogue decided. Otherwise it was rendered desultory, limp, uninspired. 

No problem. She was mad enough to bite a chunk out of Logan and barely notice it going down. Looking in the mirror, her eyes had a hard, piercing quality that had nothing to do with the mascara Kitty had pressed on her, and everything to do with the way she'd been brushed off last night. 

She twisted, running a hand down over her hip. The leather hotpants fit like a second skin. So did the lace bodysuit, looking like it revealed too much even with the long sleeves and high neckline. Ever-present gloves. Sheer black silk stockings. Knee-high combat boots with shined buckles. Jubes had called them 'fuck you' boots. Every inch of skin apart from her face was covered, but she still looked like a sex kitten. 

"Logan's going to bust something when he sees you," Jubilee predicted from the bed. 

Rogue sneered and turned away from the mirror to scoop up her coat. Three-quarter length black leather, to complete the outfit. "Fuck Logan," she snapped. 

"That's also a distinct possibility." Kitty was leaning against the wall, but tried to edge further backwards when Rogue glared at her. "Hey, you can't dress like that without some... intentions." 

"My intentions are my business." Rogue opened the door, waited for first Jubilee, then Kitty to file past her and out of the room. Her eyes lingered on her reflection. She looked like she was rough, bad, a bitch with an attitude. Except for those threatening tears glittering in her eyes. 

Rogue flipped the light off and slammed the door behind her. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Fuck him. 

It was anger that swung her hips as she stalked down to the garage, and any witnesses scuttled away after one glance at her face. It was anger that gave her the guts to hoist herself onto the motorcycle, wiggling around until she was perfectly positioned, stretched along the contours of the bike. Just right. And it was that lingering anger that kept her there as time ticked by. He'd be there. It was Friday night, and he always went out on Friday night. 

Logan was two steps in the door before he noticed her there, and then he stopped dead. Those dark eyes on her were unnerving. She suddenly felt incredibly stupid. But then the anger came back. With him, for making her do something this stupid. For not being the way he should be in the first place. 

She swung down off the bike slowly, languorously, to stand beside it. "Evenin', sugar," she said evenly, like this was the most natural thing in the world. "We gonna hit the town?" 

"Sure," he returned, not showing any signs he'd even been startled. Pulling on his gloves as he sauntered - prowled might be better - to the bike. Paused at a bench to grab a helmet for her; he certainly didn't wear one, like he didn't wear seatbelts. Without another word, he got on the motorcycle and waited for her to get on behind him. 

She'd expected more of a reaction. A fight right here. But if this was the way it was going to be... Rogue fastened the helmet and slid on the bike behind him, smiling a little at the sound of silk stockings against the denim of his jeans. She wrapped her arms around him and murmured in his ear: "Let's go." 

And once again she remembered why she loved motorcycles. Why she grabbed every rare opportunity to ride on one eagerly. More than the feel of hugging Logan tight in front of her - though the heat of his body pressed to hers was a powerful force in its own right - but the freedom, the speed, the glorious feeling of flying. Of freedom. She laughed out loud for the sheer joy of it. 

All too soon it was over, though, and Logan was stopping outside a drab building whose only distinguishing feature was the buzzing neon sign spelling out "Rusty's" in bright red. Rogue swung off the bike before Logan stopped the engine, taking off the helmet and shaking her hair out. "Nice place," she commented idly, looking up at the building that looked as if it should be raining. It had that sort of drab quality that demands compliance. "A usual hangout of yours, I take it?" 

She hadn't expected any more than a grunt from Logan, and that's what she got. He kicked down the stand, killed the engine. "Sometimes they have fights here," he offered. 

"Sounds like fun," she said blithely. 

"Not tonight, though," he continued, as if she hadn't spoken. 

With a sigh, she followed him up the few steps, through the door he held open for her, and into the bar. It was dim, thick with smoke and raucous with laughter and swearing. Cliches become cliches for a reason, and Rusty's was one of those reasons. Bikers and their girls played pool at three tables in the far end of the room. The rest of the bar was half-full of rough-looking types, male and female. Logan-looking types. 

He brushed past her. "Come on. You want something to drink?" 

"Something alcoholic?" It was hard to keep the surprise out of her voice, and she knew she didn't quite manage it from the amused look he shot back at her. 

"Well, they do serve Coke here, but it usually has bourbon in it." 

Logan was suggesting she drink. Logan had brought her here. Without one word of complaint. What the hell was going on? 

The bartender greeted them with half a glass of dark amber liquid over ice and a friendly smile at Logan. "Good to see you again. And something for your lady?" 

His lady? Yeah, that's what she was aiming for. She opened her mouth, but staring at the expanse of the spirits shelf behind the bar, she couldn't seem to think of anything. Logan chuckled. "Southern Comfort for her." 

The bartender turned away, and Rogue found her voice. "Gee, thanks, sugar." He chuckled again, and somehow this was the most jovial she'd seen him in a while. 

Once ensconced at a small table up against the wall, she looked at her glass. There seemed to be more there than one shot. Maybe two. Hell, maybe three, for all she knew. "So what do I do with this? Sip it or slam it?" 

Logan shrugged. "Up to you." He took half of his drink in one mouthful, baring his teeth. "Put it all down at once and it will go straight to your head." It didn't sound like a warning, more just the imparting of information. 

Rogue grinned at him. "Sugar, maybe that's exactly what I'm after." She mimicked him, taking half of the alcohol and an ice cube in one gulp. Eyes closed so he couldn't see their momentary widening. She'd expected the burning, controlled it with pure will, sucking on the ice cube for a moment before crushing it between her teeth. 

When she opened her eyes, he was looking right at her, those dark eyes as intense as only he could manage. "Why'd you come, kid?" 

She hadn't been expecting it, or maybe the alcohol had in fact gone straight to her head and fuddled her, because his question caught her off guard. "Why did you bring me?" she shot back. 

"You wanted to come." 

What?? "That's it?" Her incredulity was stamped all over the two short words. 

He shrugged. "Yeah." 

How did she feel about that? Think, Rogue. She wanted to come, so he let her. Was that good? Was it bad? What about looking after her? Suddenly it was too much to try and figure it all out. Why should she think about everything? Consider each round of cards so carefully? Couldn't she just play on instinct? 

She downed the rest of the Southern Comfort, and he smirked at her grimace. "Well, this ain't exactly my kinda place, you know," she drawled, setting the glass back on the table with a clink. 

"Yeah? It's got a bar, and some tables, and some pool tables, and a jukebox cranking out - " He tilted his head and listened for a moment. "Cranking out some old hard rock. What more do you need?" He was enjoying this, definitely, from the smile still flickering around the corners of his mouth. 

"Pool tables aren't exactly useful to me," Rogue pointed out. "Since you, in your infinite wisdom, declared that until I turned twenty-one and could actually go into bars - " So what if she stressed that just a little bit. " - poker was a much better skill for me to develop." 

"Just as well I didn't teach you how to play pool. At least with poker you only lose to people in the mansion." 

She gaped. "Are you suggesting that I'm a bad poker player?" 

"Unless you've improved since last showing..." 

She snorted. "Yeah, I know, there's more to poker than the cards." 

He laughed then, and took another drink, his eyes lingering on her over the rim of the glass. "On second thoughts," he said, lowering the glass, "maybe you are mastering the art." 

She was not blushing, she was *not* blushing, she was- damn. 

"Yeah well, what this place doesn't have is a dancefloor. What good's the music if you can't dance?" 

Logan drained his glass, the ice tinkling as he slid it across the table a little. "Who needs a dancefloor anyway? Besides, you can't dance to this." 

It was Rogue's turn to listen. Yeah, it was hard rock, not techno, but it still had a good strong beat and some rhythm. Her foot started tapping. "Sure you can," she returned. 

He grinned. "Prove it." 

Was he suggesting that she dance? Right here? He was, the bastard, and he was grinning across the table at her, sure she wouldn't so it. Well, she was't going to get bluffed out of this game. Her foot was tapping already, and she started to sway a little, her head nodding. It wasn't really dancing music, it was more headbanging... 

When the music launched into the guitar solo she stood up, taking a couple of steps away from the table to give herself room. She was getting the hang of this, a different movement than usual dancing, but no less natural, all in the torso and let the head flop, hair flailing. Bend the knees and hands resting on her thighs. A swivel of the hips here to get a bit more movement in there. And then the solo was winding down and she spun around, shaking her hair out of her face. 

To find that half the bar was watching her. 

It should have scared her. But instead it started a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach, where the alcohol lay, and a smile on her face. The bass in the song was louder now, an increasingly insistent rhythm building back into the main riff and it was simplicity itself to get her hips moving to it. A little shimmy around to face Logan again, who didn't seem to be grinning now, but didn't look entirely displeased either. Getting her whole body moving to the music - and she understood the appeal now, because this just felt so natural - she took a step back towards the table. She placed her foot on her chair and then - what the fuck are you doing, Rogue?! - stepped up onto the table. 

First thing, shunt those glasses to one side with a booted foot. Don't lose the rhythm. She could feel the eyes on her, but none of them mattered. Just those dark, dark eyes boring holes in her, and she stared back at him. Come on, Logan. There's a barful of guys staring at me, wanting me, thinking of all the things they'd like to do with a body that moves like that. 

Come on, Logan. Save me. Protect me. Look after me. You promised you would. 

She was focussed on him, and he was focussed on her, which was probably why neither of them noticed the fact that some of those watchers weren't quite up on the 'look, don't touch' rule. The first thing Rogue knew about it was a hand grabbing a buttock, a squeeze, a rough voice leering: "Hey baby, why don't you put on a show for someone who appreciates you?" 

Logan was on his feet in an instant, but Rogue had been training for the past year as well. It was pure instinct - natural as dancing - to turn smoothly, forearm knocking aside his hand, and her foot lashed out, landing in the middle of the guy's chest with a solid 'thunk'. He went staggering back into a small knot of men - his friends, it appeared. Five of them, now glaring at Rogue, and at Logan, and muttering. Taking a menacing step towards the table. 

"Hey!" Heads swivelled towards the bar, where the bartender glared at the lot of them. "You know the rules. Not in my bar. You wanna brawl, take it out back." And he jerked a thumb towards the rear of the bar, past the pool tables. 

"Yeah, no worries." The guy she'd kicked wasn't exactly small, Rogue noticed now, as he stood up fully, cracked his neck. They were all bikers, she guessed, and built in the traditional model. Belatedly, nervousness cramped her stomach. Kicked Biker gestured, a sardonic smile on his face as he looked towards Rogue and Logan. "After you two." 

Oh shit. She didn't want to be here, didn't want to be doing this, but there didn't seem to be any way out of it, especially with Logan not looking willing to back down (it'd be a cold day in hell when he did). She scrambled down from the table and grabbed her coat and the helmet. Logan took her by elbow, pulling her in front of him as they walked through the now-silent bar. Past the pool tables, the players turning to watch them, and out the back door. 

An alley, the usual, bounded by brick walls on both sides and lined with trash. She looked up and down, just about ready to run if it wasn't for Logan's hand still warm around her elbow. "Kid." She looked up at him, his face carved from stone. "You could take these fuckers down alone. And you're not alone." The alley filled with biker-mass behind them. "You know how to do this." Then he turned, taking a couple of steps away from her. 

She knew how to do this. Taking a deep breath, she turned around, stepping a little away from Logan as well. Don't let them come at you both at once, but don't get isolated. She felt her heartbeat in her throat, her muscles seemed to be growing liquid, burning, alive. This wasn't training. This was the real thing. But she'd been well-trained, by the best, and no matter how nervous her mind was, her body was flowing into fighting stance. Logan was bigger, obviously tougher, so they'd concentrate on him first. Sure enough, they split, three leaping for Logan, two for her. 

She knew how to do this. Use what you've got. Anything can be a weapon. Tossing the jacket quickly, she clamped both hands on the helmet and brought it swinging up in an arc. It jangled her entire arms when it connected with the skull of the first biker, catching him in the side of jaw, hard. Shit, incredibly hard, and he dropped like a stone. So did the helmet, falling from her fingers with the impact, and she only barely had the presence of mind to dodge the punch thrown at her head. 

Double shit. Don't let them hit her face. The only part of her skin that was uncovered. That would just be all-around bad. So she dodged backwards again, and again, increasingly frantic because she was running out of room and there! An opening and she leapt into it. Knuckles grazed her cheek - she heard the whisper of a connection and then it was gone, leaving her with a splash of rage, like a bad taste on the back of her tongue. Then her fist thudded into his solar plexus, the second into his chin as he started to double up. he staggered back, too big to be felled by punches from her, but the roundhouse kick in the ear did the trick. He tumbled with a clatter into a pile of rubbish, and she turned to Logan. 

He was holding two at bay, the third starting to climb groggily to his feet. He was on one knee when Rogue's kick caught him in the lower back and he sprawled forwards again, his head thumping on the ground. She deliberately trod on his fingers as she ran past to Logan. 

With their training, two on two was anything but fair. It didn't take long for the remaining bikers to realise this, and they broke, gathering up the rest of their number - one still out cold, another one staggering - and running down the alley. 

Her blood was rushing, her adrenaline pumping, her breath heaving, and Rogue felt alive. So beautifully, wonderfully, totally alive. Exhilirated. Thrilled. She turned to Logan, standing barely a step away, her eyes bright. He had a split lip where one of them had scored a lucky blow early on, and it was oozing blood. Acting on instinct, Rogue reached out, wiped it away with a gloved fingertip. Eyes locked on his, such dark, dark eyes, she raised her hand to her mouth. Her pulse was slowing a little, settling into a different rhythm. She trailed her finger along her bottom lip, her tongue coming out to follow the gory smear, and finally to lick her fingertip. Salt and copper and *Logan*. 

Just a little space between them and it took him no time at all to cross it, hands on her hips to drag her to him and he was pushing her backwards. A wall, a low window ledge, and he hoisted her up, stepping between her knees as she parted them to press against her, all of him against all of her and - 

God! Her head tilted back, her skull hitting the glass of the window, her breath coming fast and harsh in her throat. Hands bracing herself on the ledge, and her legs wrapped around him, heels pressing against him, pulling him closer. Her senses were on overload and it didn't get any better than this. 

Until it did. His hips moved, jerked, a thrust of strained denim against heated leather, and a whimper escaped her lips. One of his hands came up, tangling in her hair, while the other curled around her, sliding down to hook a thumb in the waistband of her hotpants, to hold her even closer as he jerked against her again. He was leaning into her, his whole body, bent over her and she could feel his breath against her lips. Forcing open her eyes, she stared up into his eyes. Those incredibly dark eyes. He was so close, as close as he could without kissing, their breath mingling. Rogue wanted to kiss him, but she hadn't brought a scarf - why hadn't she brought a fucking scarf? - and she couldn't. Couldn't do anything but gasp as he did it again. Her eyes flickered closed. And again. Her breath coming in ragged gasps and her fingers gripped the ledge. Again. And again. And again. And a- oh God, yes. 

"Logan!" She couldn't stop it, the name forced from her lips on a groan as her world contracted and shattered, splintered outwards in a hundred thousand pieces, each imprinted with this moment, as he thrust against her and shuddered, a growl deep in his throat. She raised one gloved hand to his sweat-slick neck, curled her fingers into his hair as he leaned forward, forehead resting against the cool glass above her head. 

"Marie," he whispered into her hair, and they didn't move for a minute. 

Then he pushed away, and she slid off the ledge. Found her jacket miraculously unharmed. The helmet had cracked, and they left it in a dumpster at the end of the alley. Rogue rode home with her arms around Logan and the wind whipping through her hair. 

Not a word as they drove quietly up the driveway. Not a word as they left the garage. Not a word as they moved quietly through dark corridors to her door. She opened it, stepped inside and paused, looking out at Logan. He waited. Silence. 

"Stay," she whispered, the word a breath between her lips. 

He shook his head, and her heart fell. "We'll talk tomorrow," he said quietly. Eyes unreadable, he leaned forward and wrapped his hand around the doorknob. "Good night." And he pulled the door shut. 

Not a word. Not a single word of caring. Of gentleness. Of love. 


	5. Ace of Hearts

**Ace of Hearts**

_Dear Diary..._

She'd stared at that page, blank but for those two words, for a long time before finally leaving it and going to bed last night. She didn't know what to say. Didn't know where to begin with the whole situation and how she felt about it. She didn't want to think about it, so she'd crawled into bed and stared, eyes wide and dry, at the wall for an even longer time before sleep had finally crept up on her. 

Now it was morning and she still didn't want to think about it, didn't want to face that empty page, except she had to because there was someone knocking at the door and they wouldn't bloody well quit. 

"Come in already," she snapped. 

The door opened quietly, and he stepped into the room even more quietly, and every automatic system in her body stopped. "Logan," she greeted him, as he closed the door behind him. He was fully dressed. Dressed for going out. Dressed for leaving. She didn't even try to keep the acrimony out of her voice. "This time you are running. I thought we were going to talk?" 

"We are," he replied curtly, pulling the chair from the desk closer to the bed and sitting down. "Right now." 

Right now? With him dressed and wide-awake and her in her nightgown and still wondering if this was some weird masochistic dream. Real fair. "Great. You actually going to talk this time? Because I don't speak fluent grunt, especially not at this hour." 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair and making her feel like a petty five-year-old. Which wasn't what she wanted, damn him. But if she stopped being angry at him, she was going to cry. And beg and plead and that really wasn't what she wanted. Suddenly an awful thought struck her. "If you apologise for last night, so help me God I'll kill you." Wow, was that her voice being so flat and cold? 

Logan didn't look surprised, just shook his head. "I don't want to apologise for it." His dark eyes stabbed into her as he looked up, and she'd almost forgotten how intense he could be without really trying. "I'm not sorry about a thing. It was exactly what I wanted. Exactly." 

And just like that she was crying. Tears spilling down her cheeks and dammit, she didn't want to be crying in front of him. "Then why are you leaving?" she demanded. She swiped at her eyes angrily. He was still sitting there, watching her with unreadable black eyes and that wasn't right. He should hold her, comfort her, protect her. Love her. 

"Because it's not what you wanted." 

She almost gaped at him, sitting calmly in her chair. Not what she wanted? "And of course, you'd know better than me what I want. Because you've been here constantly for the past two years and you know all about the dreams I've had and how long I've wanted you. You, Logan! Jesus, do I have to spell it out in block capitals? I want you to stay. I want you to love me. I want you to protect me totally, like you promised you would." 

Silence followed her tirade, the only sound her breathing, fast and heavy with her need for him to understand. To comprehend. Please, Logan. 

He closed his eyes slowly for a moment. And when he opened them again she knew just by looking that he wasn't going to. "You don't need to be protected, Rogue." Rogue? When did he start calling her that? But he just kept talking in that low, steady way that precluded interruptions. "You are beautiful, and capable, and strong. You can take care of yourself, and get what you want, and beat the crap out of anyone who stands in your way. You are not weak. You are not a little girl who needs dreams to console her. You're a woman. And I'm in love with that woman. The woman who kissed me through white gauze, who danced on a table, who licked my blood off her fingers." 

Logan sighed and lowered his head, and the absence of his gaze was like the loss of something tangible. He stood, pushing the chair back into its spot under the desk. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Say something. Say something or he'll leave! 

"I love you." 

He shook his head, turning to look at her. "No, you don't. You love an idea of me. Part of me. I want you to have all of me. Like I want to have all of you. Anything else isn't good enough. For either of us." 

There was nothing left to say and so she said nothing as he crossed to the door. Three steps, two, one, and then he was out the door. It closed behind him. He was gone. Rogue hadn't told him to take care and he hadn't told her to keep the tags safe and he had left. She sat on the bed, exactly where she'd been when she woke up. She hadn't moved. The world had moved around her. 

She could feel fresh tears trickling slowly down her face, following the dried remains of her previous tears. She didn't care, though, staring into space. What had happened? He'd said last night had been everything he wanted, but he still left. He said he loved her, but he still left. She'd said she loved him. He'd walked out. What the hell had happened? It was too big, too much to understand. She could feel it all rattling around inside her skull, making her dizzy, and not making any sense. 

Rogue crawled out of bed, starting to gather up her clothes from where she'd hurled them last night. Bodysuit in the corner. One of the boots under the bed. Far under. Simple movements, uncomplicated. 

He loved her. He loved that woman. But that woman was her, wasn't she? She'd done all those things. Kissed him and danced and licked his blood from her gloves with her heart pounding in her ears and wanting him to push her up against the wall and make her scream. She hadn't wanted him to make love to her then. She wanted to be fucked. And he had. All of that. Then this morning, he'd left. 

Kneeling beside the bed, her fist tightened on the boot she'd just rescued. After what they'd said and done in the past few days, he'd walked out. Who the _fuck_ did he think he was, to leave her here on the goddamned _floor_ trying to deal with this. Alone. Without him. She could deal with it - _they_ could deal with it - but why did he have to leave? He ran away, that's all there was to it. It got too complicated for him and he fucking ran away. 

Stomp to her feet and grab the other boot from its position by the foot of the bed. Slam the pair of them down by the door so hard that one fell over again. She didn't pause to straighten it, heading over to the wardrobe to put the bodysuit away before her grip left creases in it. Movements crisp and quick, and she slammed the drawer shut again. 

Well, if he thought she was just going to let him get away with that, he had another thing coming. After all the effort she'd put in - _her_, mind you, never him, was it? - she wasn't going to let him just ride off into the sunset without her. No. She'd got him once - twice, if you counted the curtain incident - and she would bloody well get him again. Third time lucky, right? 

Movements quick with purpose, not anger, now, she moved around the room, pulling out clothes. Jeans and shirt. Glove. Scarf. She dragged a brush through her hair, impatient when it tangled. She could borrow Kitty's car and follow him. Was it too early to wake Kitty up? No, with luck she'd be up by now. Rogue just hoped she wouldn't ask too many questions. She had to move fast. 

Sitting down on the bed to tie her shoelaces, she worked over the options in her head. He could go anywhere, of course. He roamed far and wide on his little jaunts. She couldn't afford to make a mistake in guessing his destination this time. She couldn't afford to be distracted by whimsy, and that's certainly what was making her think that he'd go back to Canada. 

To Canada. To Laughlin City. Her foot slipped off the bed and she didn't even notice. Laughlin City, where they'd met for the first time. Him, in that cage, drawing every eye because even at rest he was more vital, more alive, more masculine than anyone she'd ever seen. Like in the alley, the fight last night. He'd been alive like that. Brilliant. The Wolverine. The man with whom she'd shared that blinding moment. 

And despite it all, he'd left. After all that, he'd still left, and she thought she could bring him back? She didn't have anything left to use. All her cards were on the table and they still hadn't been good enough. 

One shoe was still untied, and it slipped off as she curled up on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. No more tears. She didn't feel them, didn't feel sad, didn't feel anything but this weight on her. Like despair. Like lethargy. Like she'd just like to lie down and go to sleep and wake up to find that this hadn't happened, please. The energy of her previous determination drained out of her. Her body slowed. Her mind stilled. 

In that stillness, Rogue heard again Kitty's voice: 'You can't dress like that without some intentions.' Except she hadn't gone out looking like that with those intentions. She'd wanted Logan to stop her. To be concerned about her. He hadn't been. He'd taken her with him. Bought her a drink. Encouraged her. To dance. To fight. Now she heard his voice, felt his hand warm on her elbow as he growled: "You could take these fuckers down alone. And you're not alone." 

But she was alone now. 

Not what she'd wanted? He'd said that. But before that, before he said the things that brought everything crashing down in pieces, those dark, deep eyes had gone right through her and he'd said: "It was exactly what I wanted." 

Exactly. 

She hadn't got what she'd wanted. But what she had got... it hadn't been so bad, had it? Sensations... Bone under her fist and his eyes on her and glass breaking behind her head and his breath on her lips and _him_ against her. 

Mmm... not so bad at all. 

A knock on the door brought her upright in an instant, eyes she didn't remember closing springing open again as she scrambled off the bed to yank the door open and greet... 

"Remy!" she gasped. Disappointment squashing the elation that had been pushing its way up. 

"Oui," he replied, grinning rakishly. "Remy indeed. How are you, cher?" 

"Me? Um... yeah, fine." Rogue sat back down on the bed and pulled over her other shoe. Yep, just putting on my shoes. Nothing weird going on here. Surreptitiously trying to take a look in the mirror. What must she look like? 

Remy leaned on the doorframe with his usual insolent grace. "Remy bets you are fine, cher. Last night, it was a big night?" His grin might have been considered a leer if he was anything other than her friend. As it was... 

A big night? Rogue pulled the bow of her laces tight, and sat up straight. A big night. What he wanted. Not what she wanted? But in that alley, she'd wanted... what she got. To be fucked. No. Not the passive voice. To fuck. Equal. Giving and taking and sharing. Together. 

What was 'making love', anyway? Some romantic notion delivered with sighs and roses and moonlit satin sheets? Honestly, Rogue, can you see him doing that? The Wolverine. Pure testosterone poured into muscle-sheathed adamantium. 

Because that's what he was. He was grubby fights in cages and blood-pounding blows in back alleys and wild and free on the road and curt and private and deep, but still. He wasn't her knight in shining armour. She was wasting her dreams and her sighs on him, not because he didn't deserve them but because they didn't deserve him. 

She stood up and went over to her dressing table. She ran her fingers over the carved wood of the box before she opened it. A jewelry box, for a young woman, not a girl. 

"Rogue?" 

She took them out of the closed compartment and turned to smile at Remy. "Yes, Remy, it was a big night." She looked around for a moment, then reached up to hook the tags around the corner of the mirror. A moment to get them to hang properly. Yes. They might slide off, but she could do something to fix them properly in place later. It would do for now. 

She turned back to Remy fully to find him grinning at her, arms crossed over his chest. "What?" she asked, grinning in return. 

"Your smile," he answered simply. "It's enough to stop my heart, cher. I used to think it was beautiful when it made you look so ethereal, like you were dreaming. But now... Now it is like the sun coming out." 

Rogue blushed, and swatted at him. "Get away, you big flatterer. Enough!" She laughed, pushing him out the door and closing it behind them. "Come on, I'm starving. Are we too late for breakfast?" 

_Dear Diary, _

I think I understand now. Why he said those things. Why he had to go. I've been thinking about it all day, on and off, through a long afternoon nothing-session with Kitty and Jubes, and then through a poker game tonight. I played badly, but there's more to poker than cards, remember? I remember. 

He wasn't who I wanted him to be. But then again, neither was I. I'm not a fairytale princess any more than he's a prince. And pretending I was was all fine and good when I was a kid, but I'm growing up now. Grown up, maybe. Almost. I think I might have made it now. 

I can be all those things he said I was. All those things the woman was. And not because they're what he wants. But because they're me. Mine. What and who I am. It's easy, really. 

Maybe, when he comes back, we can try again, reading from the same page this time. Looking each other in the eye. I know it can work, because it's exactly what he wants. 

It's exactly what I want, as well. 

But in the meantime, I have a life to live. 


End file.
